


Broken Children

by Sera_Clay



Series: Island Days [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sera_Clay/pseuds/Sera_Clay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzington, M, angst, romance. I neither own nor profit from this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Cold

He sets them in motion, watches them spin. Uncertain, then reaching, leaning, yearning towards the light he allows to glimmer from the carefully hooded lantern.

So far ahead, on the path they cannot even imagine exists.

Raymond Reddington has nothing to offer his own daughter at this remove of years, but he heals something in Zumani. In Berlin. In Berlin's youngest daughter, the tormented woman for whom no revenge can be enough.

Dembe returns from the innocent world of the scholar to stand, armed, at his side.

Even Tom survives, slips away with his glimpse of heaven forsaken.

Red has rescued so many children, killed the grown incarnations of those who have passed beyond saving. As he imagines their childselves would beg him to.

Elizabeth Keen, though. 

She refuses his healing. Throws herself into the fire, then into the line of fire to save him.

The FBI turn to him for guidance now. Harold Cooper, the fading lion, ever more dangerous as he nears the end. Even bitter Ressler has learned to obey, to depart upon Red's command.

But Liz. His Lizzie.

If Red wasn't old enough to be her father, he could swear she looks at him that very same way. Like a wounded child she'd die to protect.

Meera Malik believed in rebirth. Red can think of no fate more terrifying. 

***

Liz comes in out of the cold night, shrugging off layers; a cheap long jacket, sweaters, scarves. Tosses her gloves on the glass-topped entry table, holds her hands out to the dying fire. She's wearing a very short skirt over heavy knit tights with a loose chiffon blouse.

Red is sitting with his bottle, staring at the flames.

"Red? Is everything OK?"

He looks over at her earnest young face. Every trial she's passed through, every horrible, terrifying, demeaning struggle of the last two years, all the myriad troubles he brought down on her, have somehow only purified and refined her.

He shakes his head.

"You shouldn't be here."

He'll be on another continent soon, with a new name. A new life.

"You think you can stop me?'

Red blinks, trying to focus on her face. There's something fey about Liz tonight.

"You think I'm letting you leave without me?"

Liz puts her hands on her hips, leans towards him.

"If you give up, then so do I."

Red shakes his head.

"No, Lizzie, that's not how this works." He means the words to come out biting, but he just sounds tired. And sad. So pathetic and sad.

She betrayed him to that federal judge, and now they know about the Fulcrum. That Red doesn't have it. And they've called his bluff for the very last time.

She comes closer, stands over him. Raises her right hand as if to strike him.

If this was anyone else but Liz, anyone else in the world, he would be on his feet. In violent and possibly lethal motion.

"Go ahead," he says, raising his jaw.

Instead, her palm caresses the curve of his head. Horribly reminiscent of Yaabari.

"Get on with it," he grinds out.

She leans closer, unexpectedly fastens her open mouth on his. Red shudders, tries to draw back, resist.

Her palm connects, ever so softly, with his cheek. Like a ray of sunlight. Then she gives him just one slap. Just a little harder.

Red opens his mouth and moans for her as she straddles his knees.

"I won't let you leave me."

Her open mouth moves over his face, tasting his skin, one hand behind his neck, the other still poised for another blow.

"You can't, you don't .." he tries to say.

She needs to be safe and free and far, far away from the destructive firepower of the cabal, the death that may yet find him despite his carefully chosen bolt hole of last resort.

"You don't get to choose for me," she whispers, her fingers tracing the curve of his ear, sliding down to the side of his throat to toy with the scar she gave him with that pen, so long ago. In another world. When she was just another wounded child.

Liz flexes her knees, rocks from side to side against his trembling thighs, pinned to the couch.

He looks up, intending to challenge her, and her palm connects with his face once again. Harder.

"I will not let you leave me."

She stares at him until he blinks and looks away, tears starting in his eyes.

He's paid everyone close to him what he owes them, and so much more. Dembe is gone, and Mr. Kaplan, along with anyone else they could use against him.

Red just needs to find the courage, and the strength, to send Liz away.

Just this one, last task. If only she didn't smell so good, the French perfume he gave her at Christmas so perfectly blending with the scent of her skin. If he looks closely at her blouse, he can make out the half-circle shadow of her strapless black bra through the filmy fabric. 

It's all he can do not to tear it from her, run his hands over her willing flesh. Just once. Why not just this once?

"Red. Say yes."

Her insistent voice. Liz reaches for his wrists, forcibly removes the open bottle and sets it aslant on the couch. Drags his hands to her thighs, the knit wool of her tights scratching at his sensitive palms. Liz guides his hands higher, up beneath her short, tight skirt.

Not tights. Thigh high stockings giving way to velvety soft bare flesh. 

Red breathes out, moans again, louder. Her weight on him. Her wet, wet mouth at his neck, licking and biting where his open shirt collar allows her access to the line of his collarbone, then the sensitive flesh just below it.

Is this her version of once, just once?

"Say yes," she growls, her fingers at his belt, hampered by the angle as she kneels above him, and the heavy curve of his belly.

Red tries to remember how many drinks he's consumed. His heart is pounding in his throat, his flesh is insistent. 

The wild dogs on his lonely tundra of a heart running crazed through the ice and snow to the welcoming warmth that is Lizzie.

She's so open. So yielding. Her threatening palm on his burning cheek, his belt loosening, the guttural sounds of his own moans.

Like begging. As she's ordering him to say yes.

Red freezes and opens his eyes. She has one hand on him, twisted sideways down the front of his pants, and the other curving warm along the curve of his face. Her nails lightly scratching into his sideburns. Her open mouth drawn back from his frantic kisses.

"Are they coming for me, Lizzie?" he whispers. "Are you here because they're coming?"

Her eyes narrow with calculation.

"Say yes and I'll tell you," she breathes out. Her blue eyes hard, calculating.

"Done," he responds, trying to put himself back together despite the touch of her fingers, his lips swollen from her kisses. Red knows when to surrender. "Yes, you can come with me."

Liz heaves herself off his lap.

"Not for two more hours," she informs him briskly, pulling her skirt back into place with a swift tug. "So let's get going."

Red shudders and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He buckles his belt and leans forward, then rocks unsteadily to his feet.

He looks around for his suit jacket. Liz is already layering herself with sweaters, tugging a dark blue knit cap down over her hair.

"Here." She tosses Red his jacket and his big coat with the fur edged hood.

Stumbling, he collects his weapons, looks around for Dembe before remembering his friend is already gone.

"What's our exit strategy?" Liz asks him, her gaze so intense. As if she's trying to sober him up with just the force of her will.

"Roof," he responds, the world coming unpleasantly into focus. Red pulls the phone from his coat pocket, makes the last call. Then tromps it beneath his heel.

They ascend flight after flight of stairs without speaking.

The distant city glitters far beneath them, the roof still and icy. The roar of the helicopter is a welcome respite from the silence.

"After you," Red gestures. She leans against his shoulder as they wheel away into the night, but he just sits and stares at his gloved hands, clasped so tightly in his lap.

He never asked her to come. He promised her something different. The life she deserves, now impossibly beyond her reach.

What has he done, in his weakness?


	2. Into the Sun

Three different jets, then another helicopter.

Then a boat. 

The island is fully outfitted, self-sufficient. The small blue sailboat rocking at anchor offshore has the latest electronics. Home and transport, bought years ago with untraceable cash.

Liz stands beside him on the coral jetty as the powerboat roars away. No luggage. No welcoming party.

"This is it?"

She looks around. Nothing but sea and sky and the empty curve of sand. Tropical foliage conceals the twists of the path leading inland from the jetty.

Red shrugs.

"This is it."

He's wearing a fresh linen suit, a straw hat, and Italian leather shoes. She's still in her wool skirt and black blouse. She peeled off the stockings, though, three time zones ago.

Time to unlock the house, power up the solar fans, and change into shorts.

Liz is still looking around.

"Who lives here?" she asks him, squinting against the bright tropical sunshine. He follows her gaze, grateful for his sunglasses, then shrugs again.

"Me. Us."

They haven't talked much during their journey. On the first jet, Red soon passed out from scotch and an excess of thwarted desire, and when he woke Liz was sleeping, curled into a ball like a little girl. 

She's shown nothing but cheerful good humor since waking, no evidence of undue affection or desire. He can barely look at her without the ache starting again, an endless howling that he needs to keep locked down. The feel of her hand striking his face.

"Nobody else? We're all alone on this island?" she asks again.

Red raises his brows.

"Yes, all alone."

He waits for some protest, some further question. 

Instead, she unbuttons her blouse and and slips it off, then unzips the side zipper and steps out of her wool skirt. Kicks off her heels and wriggles her bare toes as Red stares at her in amazement.

She's wearing nothing but a tight strapless black push-up bra, and a black lace thong.

"Wonderful," she exclaims, tilting her head back and carding through her messy long dark hair with her fingers, roughly braiding it back from her face.

Red bends and picks up her discarded clothing, shakes it out and lays it over his arm.

"Are you ready to see the house now?" he asks, forcing his eyes up to her face. 

"Oh, yes," she responds, looking inland with curiosity. "Our house."

He swallows, trying not to say something cutting. 

"Red?" She turns, squinting at him. "It's so bright. Can I borrow your hat?"

In answer he lifts it from his head and plunks it on hers. She tilts it a little and grins at him. 

His head is going to sweat in the heat without his hat, and then very quickly burn. But Red stands looking at her for a moment, trying to reconcile the beautiful, scantily dressed young woman who looks so happy, with the grim, deadly FBI agent of the last few months.

"What?" Liz asks him, still smiling. "Not used to me without make-up, yet?"

She washed it all off the first time they changed jets. She looks younger, less polished.

Red shakes his head.

"You look beautiful, Lizzie."

He has to come to some accommodation with her. Whatever her intent in warning him, then leaving with him, she has no tracking or communication devices with her. No way to contact the FBI. He scanned her very carefully while she slept.

A laconic surgeon pulled his chip more than a month prior, and afterward Red just wore it taped to his skin, the work of seconds to discard.

Her smile widens.

"And you look overdressed, Raymond Reddington."

"Oh, yes?" is all he can manage as she steps closer, her eyes on his mouth.

"There's nobody here to impress," she teases, reaching out to finger the neatly folded pocket handkerchief in his breast pocket.

He steps back.

Her eyes widen. 

"Let's get the house unlocked," he gestures toward the path. "Then we can discuss my attire, or potential lack thereof."

She gives him a worried look from beneath the brim of his hat, but follows him down the path.

***

The low, solidly built house is secure behind its hurricane shutters. Built into a low rise near the sea, the screened walls allow cooling breezes, while the interior courtyard collects and stores rain water.

Red digs for the biometric pad in the sandy soil beneath the palm to the right of the front door, touches his thumb and then both forefingers together.

The shutter over the front door grinds slowly aside.

He pulls the key from his coat pocket and unlocks the door, then starts opening up the house. Liz trails after him, seemingly subdued.

When they reach the simple kitchen, he pulls two bottled waters from the pantry and hands her one.

"Drink this while I get the solar online," he advises her.

Almost an hour later, Red has discarded his shoes, jacket and vest, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. The pumps are online, and the lights, but one of the battery banks is misbehaving.

"Red? Do you want another water?"

Liz appears at the doorway to the mechanical room, a small space that's crowded for one.

Red shakes his head, then wipes a bead of sweat from his nose with the back of his hand.

"Yes, just leave it there," he indicates a clear spot on the floor. Tools and wires are spread out around him. 

"I'll be in the bedroom," she grins at him, then flounces away.

Red makes one last adjustment and then tries again. It's working correctly at last.

This house has only one bedroom. He's been trying not to think about that.

Red detours past one of the cabinets, pulls out a rolled towel wrapped in plastic before heading for the shower. It's built facing the interior garden, not currently planted, to avoid wasting water.

He needs to get some herbs growing.

He's undressed, the filtered water sluicing down him as he soaps his chest, before he realizes Liz is watching him. She's standing on the other side of the courtyard, just frozen in place.

Deliberately, Red turns his ruined back on her. Let her stare. Let her see what a foolish bargain she's made.


	3. Filled with Light

Once he dries himself and dresses for the island in loose shorts and a light, short sleeve linen shirt, Red meets Liz in the kitchen.

She's perched on a bamboo stool, wearing one of his white T-shirts as a dress, her expression wary.

"You really don't want me here, do you, Red?"

He scowls at her, regretting it the moment she flinches. There are cases of scotch packed away here somewhere. Probably in the very center of the supply cupboard, protected by the crates of canned and packaged foodstuffs.

"I wanted to keep you safe," he responds. Trying to remember which case is closest to the cupboard door. "You threw your whole life away, and for what?"

"Our life," she answers at once. "Which would be pointless, without you."

"There are other task forces," he informs her. "Other assets. Other informants."

She shakes her head.

"You don't believe anyone could want you, just for yourself."

Red holds out his arms, turns as if surveying the small house.

"I didn't plan for company, no," he says. "I do very well on my own, actually."

"But now you have me."

Liz slides from the stool and crosses the room to stand in front of him.

"I came because I want you, Red. More than anything and everything in that life I left behind me."

"That wasn't your choice to make."

Liz glares back at him.

"You chose to say yes. Don't say you didn't."

"With your hand down my pants!" he retorts bitterly.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" She's gorgeous when she's furious, her blue eyes nearly violet. 

"And what about now?"

In answer she reaches for him, hooking her fingers into the empty belt loops of his shorts. They're so loose, she could drag them down if she tried. Liz gives a little tug.

Red can't help but respond. He sets his hands at her waist, smoothing the T-shirt down over her curves of her hips. Holding their bodies apart.

She's so impossibly young and beautiful. How can he have destroyed her life this way?

As if in answer, she lids her eyes at him.

"I still want you, Red. Any way you'll have me."

"I want you back in New York."

She flinches again, letting go of his belt loops. He gives her hips a gentle pat before releasing her as well.

"Lizzie, you deserve a full and happy life. A successful career. A husband who loves you. Children. That's what I want for you."

She plants her hands on her hips, causing the T-shirt to ride up. With an effort he focuses on her glare.

"So what I want is irrelevant?"

"You can't expect me to be happy about this!" He's raising his voice now, practically shouting. "I may be a monster, Lizzie, but to see your life end up here?"

He gestures dramatically around the small house.

"If it's good enough for you, then it's good enough for me." Liz responds, then just stands there, gazing at him in entreaty across the gulf he's creating. "And you can't make me leave."

Red scowls at her. Where did he put that scotch?

"And you can't make me want to leave either, so deal with that too," she announces.

She already knows him too well. The thought of those knowing eyes on him, day in and day out, completely unnerves him. Who would he become? How could he withstand her eventual judgment? 

She's tilting her head, all her anger vanishing.

"What is it? " she asks him. "What are you thinking about?"

He shrugs. "Where I put the scotch when I provisioned this house."

Liz smiles brightly.

"I found that while you were dressing." She opens the cupboard behind her, takes out a sealed bottle and two glasses. Sets them on the counter and pours. 

Red reaches for the glass she extends towards him.

"Peace?" she asks, holding on to it as his fingers close around it, just beneath hers.

He blinks at her level tone.

"Peace," he agrees, begrudgingly.

***

He was howling inside, and now all he can hear is whining, a high mindless agony that drowns out even fear. 

Red sits up late, reading by candlelight and drinking his scotch after their simple meal of reheated food from cans.

When he lets himself into the bedroom she's sprawled asleep in the very center of the bed atop the covers. Naked. 

If he wanted to dream a perfect dream, this would be it - the peerless curves of her youthful body, the thick dark mass of her tousled hair.

Her face against one pillow turned down and away. As if she's on display, just for him.

Oh. She's clutching another pillow close, has rolled over onto it, one knee bent and curled so that his heart pounds at the sight of her. So vulnerable. So exposed.

"Red?"

She raises her head, looks sleepily up at him over one shoulder.

Then she snuggles against the pillow, her bent, splayed legs opening just a little wider.

"Come to bed," she says. Not just an invitation. Practically a demand.

His mouth goes dry.

Red has to take a few breaths before he speaks. She just lies there, her face turned back down into the pillow. Waiting.

He knows his choice now will define their future. Perhaps for many years. He'd so much rather be alone than have this go so wrong. And yet, and yet ... this is Lizzie.

He has to trust her. Worse, he wants to trust her. She's refused to leave. Can he bear for her to remain?

"And if I don't?" he responds. Just standing there, his hands at the top button of his linen shirt. Making it clear he'll only undress for bed when he's ready.

She looks up over her shoulder once more. He trembles violently, but waits. 

"But you will."

She rolls to her feet, off the bed, step towards him, almost swaggering. Head up, shoulders back, and then, and then, his breath catches dizzyingly in his throat, she raises her right hand.

Lays it very gently along the side of his face.

"You will do what I want and need you to do, won't you, Red?" Just the softest of slaps. Nothing but a reminder. She chooses.

It's enough.

Red drops his eyes, unbuttons his shirt. Allows his shorts to fall to the floor as well.

Her hands explore him. Deft. Arousing. Then her mouth on his. Confident. Demanding. And joyful.

She's making soft little sounds now, and he's growling low in his throat with impatience.

Whatever his many flaws, Red can't doubt in this moment that he is perfect to Liz. Perfect in body, in soul, in spirit.

"Wait until I say you may," she tells him, then she takes him in her mouth.

The moon is rising over their private paradise, painting the lapping waves in molten silver, and all within is bliss, so long denied.


	4. Halcyon Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

"Hey! Lizzie!"

Liz lifts one hand and squints against the bright glow of the open ocean. She's lying naked in a beach chair, deeply tanned and slick with sunblock, reading just above the tide line beneath a floppy straw hat.

Raymond Reddington strides towards her through the waves, his sun-dark face lit by an enormous, boyish smile. She watches him emerge, droplets of seawater glistening on his skin, stopping when the water reaches mid-thigh.

He stands there, visibly enjoying her eyes on him, before continuing to wade towards her, strong and rested from hours of daily ocean swims. His bare head shines in the sunlight.

"Come on in again!" he calls to her. 

Liz marks her place, then takes off her hat and anchors it to the chair with the book. She'll swim a little more, then they'll return to the house for a shower, lunch, and a siesta.

Red has promised to demonstrate some exciting new uses for their hammock.

She stands and stretches, then wades out to embrace him. His wet skin is chilly, but his mouth is warm and eager. His lips taste deliciously of salt. Maybe they won't wait for the hammock.


End file.
